


Falling Down

by yosgay



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yosgay/pseuds/yosgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"This is gonna be a fun year, I can feel it!"</em>
</p><p>Based on that quote from Junpei in the beginning of the game that proves Atlus has a sense of humor.<br/>First fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Journey

_“This is gonna be a fun year, I can feel it!”_

The mocking words flickered in his mind along with the rest of the year’s memories, wavering like smoke, like the promise of heroism and excitement that came with his first step into Tartarus. For all his usual levity, the words ached like a wound.

The idea of “fun” that brandished a 100-watt smile on his face through every step of the labyrinth faded a little the first time he put a gun to his own head and felt Hermes pour out of him like a cold sweat. The rush behind his eyes that blinded him, only for a moment, settled the first seed of doubt deep inside his chest.

He shoved it down through curious treks through the Dark Hour, feeling truly powerful for the first time since the bruises from his dad’s drinking caught up with him, locked it away in a place that wouldn’t interfere with his being a savior. He let that feeling wash over him nightly, and back then, he swore he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

That doubt came alive again in the early fall, damp night air wrapping around him like a vice, when he watched helpless from the background as Akihiko bore the weight of the loss that he still couldn’t bring himself to accept as fact. He’d heard the shot. He’d seen the blood. So much blood. How could there have been that much? _How_ _did_ _this_ _happen_? This wasn’t… supposed to…

_“This is how it should be.”_

He tried not to take those words to heart. _No_. This was supposed to be different. They were supposed to save the day, beat the bad guys, come out on top every time… right? This wasn’t what he fucking signed up for.

He bit back the acidic taste on his tongue every time the Evoker’s weight at his hip started dragging him down with it, focused on its familiar chill against his temple, on the flames he breathed out with every click of the trigger. It was just a fluke. Just a one-time thing. Nothing like that would ever happen again. He wouldn’t let it.

Then _she_ happened.

He didn’t expect to fall for someone like her, stoney and cryptic, austere as she was beautiful. He was just messing around. Flirting. He didn’t expect her to fall back, didn’t expect the bullet in his stomach. Didn’t expect the flooding warmth of the most overwhelming Dia spell he’d ever felt, her life pouring into him, her pulse instead of his fading under his fingertips. The blood on his shirt was still warm when her breathing stopped.

He could still feel her, a whisper inside his head, occupying the same metaphysical space that Trismegistus now called home, her presence calming him as he looked upon the face of death without so much as blinking.

He won’t let himself die here, won’t let them take another one. He is so fucking sick of the Dark Hour. He’s not a hero, not a knight. He doesn’t even want to be anymore. He’s just a kid, and he just wants this to _end_.

Yukari’s eyes echo his hesitance, and Ken’s his anger. The fear in Aigis’s eyes makes him falter, more human than he’s ever seen her, but her gaze settles on Minato, her uncertainty blanketing him. He’s not ready to lose again, can’t bear the weight of it anymore. He steels himself against the pale smile adorning the black mass in front of him, heartbeat in his ears, and draws his Evoker. He looks up at the sickly green moon, and exhales fire.

_“Persona.”_


	2. The Answer

Junpei’s eyes sweep across the remnants of his life in Iwatodai as he slumps against the wall with a dejected sigh. The stacks of torn-down posters and half-packed boxes are anything but neat, and wait- are those socks clean or dirty? _Whatever_ , he thinks, with a shake of his head, and he struggles against throwing it all out the window and calling it a day.

“Looks like you’re making good progress,” an amused voice says from the doorway, and Junpei jumps.

“Very funny, Senpai," he says, trying to keep his voice light. "How about givin’ me a hand for once?” He’s still wary of Akihiko, still had to convince himself every day this week that the warmth of his hand on Junpei’s cheek and the press of his lips wasn’t a trick. If he’s honest with himself, he’s still half-expecting to wake up.

It had happened so _fast_ , like a reflex, when Junpei was losing his grip on himself, collapsing under the weight of half-formed memories, of gold-etched walls and dancing hands and blood, so much-

“Junpei?”

The tinge of concern coloring his name pulls Junpei from his stupor, and he starts at how close the boxer has gotten. He looks tentatively into wide silvery eyes, searching. The abrupt silence is a little awkward, but Akihiko’s the only one to notice, because suddenly it’s all too much for Junpei, too _much_ , the tiptoeing, the grief, the hole in his chest- and his lips are against Akihiko’s before he can think to stop himself.

Junpei hasn’t let himself acknowledge the empty seat in the lounge or the extra room in the hall, Mitsuru’s hushed tones or Aigis’s empty stare. His jokes haven’t landed in months, and his lone laughter sounds tired even to his ears. He can’t think about it. That would mean that all this was real, and that would mean that he’s coming apart at the seams.

He hasn’t slept since March. Trismegistus screams against the emptiness, _begs_ Junpei to let him out, but Tartarus is gone. The Dark Hour is gone, and it took a piece of all of them with it.

They’re fuzzy, the memories. Since they came back he has had to struggle against their will to pull away, to leave him like so many people have. He’s had to fight to relive every moment, when every moment was a fight within itself. They’re not bright memories, any of them. He can’t even bring himself to think fondly of the good ones. Every one is tinted with grief, with foreboding. Minato’s eerie calm cuts into every silence. Shinjiro’s harsh strength crumbles him at the knees. Chidori’s sacrifice rings clearer in his head than her love ever did.

And so he loses himself. He lets Akihiko’s timid grip tighten on his shoulders, like he’s squeezing the memories right out of him. Akihiko’s no stranger to loss, and he knows this, but Junpei can’t bear it like he can. He squeezes back and pulls away just long enough to notice the tears staining his friend’s stoic face.

“We’ve lost so much, man,” he whispers.

“Not this time,” Akihiko says firmly, and leans back into him.


End file.
